The Ice Maiden
by Never-strike-twice
Summary: Oneshot. Faramir visits Eowyn in the gardens. No real plot, but not just lovey-dovey drabble. Please R&R!


It was almost dusk when Faramir visited the ice maiden in the gardens. He still thought of her like that, even though he had known her for some time, and she was not nearly as cold as she had been when they first met.

It was a good name for her. She was beautiful, but cold, hard and unforgiving. Faramir could not reach the gentle maiden at the centre; only circle the edges, searching for a weak point. Lately, though, Faramir had sensed those edges beginning to melt. It was nothing particularly noticeable, just something in the way their talk now sometimes turned from the war, and the way she laughed.

It was only recently that he had heard that laugh, high and light like dewfall. It wasn't until she laughed that he realised how unnerved he had been by her lack of laughter, her unsmiling seriousness. But now he had heard her laugh, he longed to hear it again.

She had her back to him, staring out over the wall. To the East, as always. He let himself examine her for a moment. She was dressed in white, her hair shining, proving a beacon in the dim light.

"Éowyn," he called softly. She spun round. Faramir leaned back as her hair threatened to whip him in the face.

"Good evening, lord." Faramir heard a note of bitterness in her voice. He wondered why. He moved to stand next to her, staring out to the East. For a while, there was silence.

He called her the ice maiden to himself, she knew. Not from him, of course, but he had used this name when talking to Merry, and she had heard. She knew that the name suited her, and for that reason it hurt. Hurt her pride, but more than that, it hurt other, deeper parts of her that she did not know so well. Te fact that he had managed to hurt her, even by accident, made her feel weak. So did the fact that she had missed him when he had not come today, and she had thought that he was not coming. But she knew how to be strong. She had to _be_ the ice maiden. To be strong, she had to be cold and proud. And she had to be strong, because she had nothing else.

"How are you today, lady?" said Faramir, having noted the formal way in which she addressed him and responding appropriately.

"I am well. As always, I long to be free of this place. I feel trapped here."

"I am sorry. I cannot help you. I have no power over the orders of the lord Aragorn."

"I know. But where were you today? I thought that you were a prisoner here, as I am."

"I was. Today I was given permission to leave the houses of healing."

"I will be sorry to see you go." Although she expressed a sentiment that should have softened her, Éowyn said this stiffly, as if it was a formality. Which, Faramir realised sadly, it probably was.

"I will be sorry to leave. I have enjoyed talking to you. I hope to still visit you here, but I must begin to restore order in the city. I must get used to being steward of the city. I always thought of that position as my father's, or my brother's. It never occurred to me that it could be mine."

"Do you want it to be yours?"

"I do not know. I do know that I would rather that my father and brother liver than be steward."

"Your post may be a short one. Is not the Lord Aragorn to take over the city?"

"He is. But there has always been a steward in Gondor, even when there was a king. It is not like in Rohan."

"No. It is not. But now the king of Rohan is my brother."

"Éomer will be a good king."

"Yes."

"But you miss Théoden." Éowyn gave a small gasp at this remark. How was it that this man could see her feelings where even her brother could not?

"Yes. He was like a father to me."

"What about Wormtongue, his twisted adviser?"

"As you said yourself, he was – is - twisted. But more than that, he twists other people. Please, speak no more of him." Faramir saw her shudder slightly as she spoke. He wondered how Wormtongue had used his snake's tongue on Éowyn. He resolved to speak no more to her of him, but he thought that he might ask Merry – or Mithrandir, if he ever had the time to speak to him – for more information.

"I will not, if you do not wish it, lady." He said.

"Thank you. But I had forgotten. We will not be speaking so much more anyway. You will be busy, and I cannot leave this place." Again, Faramir sensed bitterness in her words, but he thought that he sensed sadness too. This cheered him. Maybe she really would miss him, after all.

"I hope to visit you here, if you still wish to speak to me."

"I would be very pleased." Although the words she used were formal, Éowyn could feel relief bubbling up inside her. She thought that she could go mad being trapped in the houses of healing without him. She started to smile, but then lifted her chin and straightened her mouth into its usual neutral expression. She had to be strong and cold. But she was starting to feel that she did not want to.

For a second, Faramir thought that he had seen a smile on Éowyn's face, but then her chin went up and her expression was once more unreadable. Still, he felt relief. For a moment, he had thought that she would say that she no longer wanted to see him. He knew he would need something – her – to keep him sane in the task that lay ahead.

"Then I will come as often as I can, and take pleasure in it." He said, smiling. She did not return the smile, but nor did she frown. He continued. "Now I must leave you. There is urgent business in this city."

"I know. I only wish that I could be involved in it, that I could be of some use."

"You have done much already." _More than most of the men fighting,_ he thought, but did not say.

She did not respond to this remark, but rather said "Farewell for the present, lord. I hope to see you again soon."

"And I you. I hope that the healers will soon see that you are recovered enough to leave here. Farewell."

Faramir stood up and left. Before he left the garden completely, he turned and looked back. Éowyn was standing where he had left her. Her hair and dress billowed out behind her. Almost all the light had now gone, but she seemed almost to glow. Once more, she was looking out to the East. The ice maiden.


End file.
